


bottled emotions

by silverspheres



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Gun Violence, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverspheres/pseuds/silverspheres
Summary: This was written way back in 2013/2014. I never got around to finishing it then Luhan left, so I guess, this is it. I'm posting it because otherwise, it's never gonna see the light of day, which sucks because I am quite proud of this one. So here we are. Have fun!This can stand on its own, even if it's unfinished.PS. If you came here for Yixing and Minseok, one's barely around and the other's unnamed. They had a bigger part in the second part, but I never got around to writing that, sorry!
Relationships: Kim Jongin | Kai/Lu Han
Kudos: 1





	bottled emotions

**Author's Note:**

> This was written way back in 2013/2014. I never got around to finishing it then Luhan left, so I guess, this is it. I'm posting it because otherwise, it's never gonna see the light of day, which sucks because I am quite proud of this one. So here we are. Have fun!
> 
> This can stand on its own, even if it's unfinished.
> 
> PS. If you came here for Yixing and Minseok, one's barely around and the other's unnamed. They had a bigger part in the second part, but I never got around to writing that, sorry!

Prick.

Pull.

Turn.

Prick.

Push.

Turn back.

Repeat process.

His spent fingers carefully wrap themselves around fragile containers of multicolored chemicals—some are in #34s, some are in #28s, some are a mix of #30s and #20s; each of these are supposed to go to the thin tubes made of plastic all tangled up on the table behind his seat.

He pricks the cork on top of one of the containers. It is colored #24, a color very much similar to the bright lips of the lady watching over all of them and it is labelled HPN008, a label he has never really understood and never really asked about. He pulls the end of his device—a weird looking thing he has never bothered to remember the name of because it looks a lot like that thing his doctor uses on him to pacify him—so that the device sucks some of the chemical.

He turns towards the table behind him where he searches for the fourteenth tube. He finds it almost immediately—after all, he’s been doing this for almost a third of his life. He pricks the tube and he pushes on the end of his device (the same one he’s pulled just a few seconds ago) to carefully secrete all of HPN008 it sucked out of the container.

When everything has been transferred to the tube, he swivels his chair to face the containers once again, so he could repeat the process.

A sigh comes out of his lips and his eyes widen for a second. His eyes furtively glance towards the lady standing firmly near the door, watching over them since her shift started a few hours ago. When he realizes that she isn’t looking at him, he relaxes a bit.

No noise is what she said; that is what he wants to do until he feels like he can’t take the suffocating atmosphere only he seems to feel in the white walled room.

He finishes what he thinks is the thousandth whatsitcalled, and he moves to grab the innocent looking block of metal sitting quietly in the corner of his desk. He stands up without noise and when the lady sees what he is holding in his hands, she gives him a nod. He presses the button on top of it and a flash of 04:00:00 in #20 appears on the smooth surface.

He almost runs outside but he doesn’t, because there are consequences if he did. He doesn’t want to be saddled up on a desk with a dozen doctors hovering over him, holding those filthy things they use to prick his skin and make a bunch of chemicals run wildly in his veins. They call them wonder drugs, but all they ever do to him is confuse him; he thinks they should call it confusing drug, but he doesn’t know what the consequences might be should he say this out loud, so he keeps it to himself.

He tries to remember what it is called to keep himself in check; nope, he doesn’t want anything to do with yet another doctor.

“Syr—,” he begins, testing the syllable on his tongue as he recalls the times he has struggled against the men in scrubs, “syringe.”

He repeats the word, checking how it rolls off his tongue.

He doesn’t like it the way he doesn’t like the death of his twin sister. He remembers feeling upset then and he has never felt that upset—he doesn’t want to feel it ever again, to be very honest. It scares him, because it makes him feel as though he doesn’t want to live anymore.

He wonders though, how he’s been injected with the wonder drug too many times (he counts a total of ten) and yet here he is, still lost and upset and curious. He isn’t supposed to feel anything: he is only allowed to feel fear, pain (along with a little of tiredness, but that can be considered pain too) and a little like. These are small incidents, but here he is, feeling things he doesn’t recall seeing in the spectrum of emotions they were all asked to memorize as a student in The Facility.

A beeping takes him out of his thought. He glances at his time block and he finds that he’s spent about five minutes walking idly and thinking about things. He walks quicker than before and he heads towards his home—a trip that takes about thirty to forty-five minutes. He breaks into a run when fear of hunger and lack of sleep kicks in, cold sweat gathering in the palms of his hands. He still has to take a nap and grab something to eat, after all. He can’t possibly work for hours with nothing in his stomach again.

He takes about fifteen minutes to reach their family apartment. It boasts of two bedrooms and a bathroom: a luxury not everyone can afford. He heads to the bath and he moves to take his clothes off. He reaches for the dog tag that hangs on his neck; Luhan is all it says.

He stares at the white tiles while the huge drops of water rain down on him. _It’s been a while,_ he thinks, as his normally careful thoughts begin to come to him fully. He feels a comfortable warmth settle in the bottom of his stomach as his body temperature rises with the water’s heat.

“This feels nice,” he whispers to himself, “I should be able to do this more often.”

His time block beeps and he turns the tap off. He takes a set of clothes from his room, leaving puddles of water in his wake. He dresses up in the receiving area, his mind turning autopilot on as Luhan loses himself to his thoughts again.

He blinks blankly at the walls; white is everywhere and he wonders if he’s beginning to hate it. He feels a little bad though, because it is pretty so he mentally wishes everything else looked different. He’s getting tired of all the white—that’s all he has ever known, after all.

He spares a glance at his clothes—plain white overalls he’s been wearing since forever. It fits nicely but Luhan finds himself unsettled and uncomfortable. He has been feeling this too much recently, and he figures he needs to shut it down.

He shudders at the thought of a syringe aimed towards him.

_Never. Never again._

He sits on the sidelines; always observing, always watching.

Always waiting.

Grime covers his face and the rest of his body, but he is never hungry. People around him look at him with one thing in their minds—fear.

 _Well, that is a field they’ve trained them all well,_ he chuckles inwardly.

As if fear can do anything.

Luhan scampers out of their family apartment when he wakes up a little too late. He has a little more than half an hour to make it back to work, so he runs fast as he can. He decides to take a shortcut—he never really uses this unless necessary because it feels too luxurious for him.

He passed by a few elegant buildings; they scream indulgence and affluence. Luhan’s family is by no means poor—they are very much well off, to be honest. They did afford to buy the nice, comfortable house they currently ‘live’ in, after all. Despite this, he feels very, very small in this part of The Fortress. It probably is the main reason why he hates using this path, albeit the time he can save, should he choose to use it.

Luhan passes by a faded and ripped advertisement; he almost ignores it. Almost, because he doesn’t—he goes back to read what it says. In huge, bold letters, it boasts of happiness. He has never felt happiness; he has read of it in history books and in stories during his last years in The Facility. He remembers talks of smiles and laughter, and how these impede in the betterment of the country.

A mini-mart comes into view and he finds himself entering despite of himself. Rows and rows of vials are on the shelves, with labels that promise wonderful tastes and equally wonderful aftereffects. Luhan traces a label that promises eternal bliss, whatever that is. His eyes drift towards the price tag and he drops his hand.

“1,975,800 beats,” Luhan reads to himself, folding a finger and another as he calculates the amount of days he needs to work for a vial of ‘eternal bliss’. “I earn about 1,458 beats a day, so that makes—”

His time block buzzes and Luhan is reminded of his absence in the workplace. He rushes out of the mini-mart, all his fear of getting caught _feeling_ things thrown away, barely noticing a boy about his age who is sitting in the alleyway just beside the mini-mart. He doesn’t feel a pair of curious eyes trailing him until he is out of sight.

Once a month (so far), The Government decides to give the Workers a day off. It comes on random days; Luhan believes The Governor chooses the day on the day itself. He smiles as he remembers bringing it up to his twin sister. It only dims a little as he realizes he misses her.

 _Yet another emotion not found in the spectrum_.

Luhan takes the time block on the corner of his desk, staring at the digits flashing at him. It says 24:00:00, a sight very much welcome to him at the moment. The white has been suffocating him as of late and he is beginning to feel like splashing the chemicals around just to make stains.

A loud buzz rings in Luhan’s ears; the signal of the simultaneous ticking of everyone’s time block. He watches as the clock starts counting down, and he doesn’t lose seconds idling. It is a rare occasion that he and his parents actually get to eat together, not that it should really matter. The Facility has taught them that independence is key, at least until you get married.

That doesn’t change the fact that his parents still try to eat with him (and a photo of his deceased sister) whenever they are all together—today is not an exception. His nose is blessed with the scent of a delicious meal when he gets home; he finds his mother and his father seated in the dining area. He approaches them and they affectionately pat him on the back.

They eat quietly, with small talk every now and then. Afterwards, Luhan proceeds to washing the plates as his parents head to their bedroom to get ready for bed.

 _They are extra nice today,_ Luhan thinks to himself. _I feel extra nice myself._

Luhan doesn’t notice an unfamiliar vial sitting in the trash bin on his right.

At 17:53:28, he decides to take a stroll around the Fortress. He walks around, lost in his thoughts. His feet take him to Opulence, straight into the same street where that mini-mart he was in a few weeks ago stands. He hasn’t been to this area of the Fortress since that last visit and he has yet to admit to himself that he has been looking forward to going back and exploring the mini-mart.

That kind of mini-mart isn’t something he’d find in the common workers’ areas after all.

At 16:04:52, he steps into the shop stealthily, as if trying to hide himself from the other patrons. When he finds that no one else is present, he starts going aisle through aisle. He picks up a few bottles and shakes them, just to see what happens. The saleslady approaches him at one point, carefully explaining how to use the bottled liquids.

According to her, they are seasonings—things to put on your food.

“Are they necessary?” Luhan asks, eyeing the bottle that caught his attention before. “I mean, if I cook, do I really have to put these?”

“No, you don’t. You just add these—they make the food more enjoyable. Food is very bland nowadays.”

“Oh, I see,” Luhan nods his head. 

“Do you want to try?” Luhan perks up at this and this does not slip unnoticed.

“Here,” the lady pulls Luhan to a chair and offers him soup. “This is how that tastes without our seasoning.”

Luhan takes a spoonful and swallows. _It tastes the way food at home does_ , he thinks. He watches as the lady brandishes a bottle— _heavenly satisfaction_ the label reads. He gulps cautiously as she puts in one, two, three tiny little drops of the liquid.

She stirs gently and offers him the spoon afterwards. Luhan accepts the spoon warily. He stares at it for a few moments before swallowing the _seasoned_ soup. He does feel really good after—it _does_ taste nice and he feels something settle in his stomach and he just knows everything is right in the world—like he doesn’t need anything.

“That is satisfaction, my boy,” she declares triumphantly. “Would you like to get a bottle or two? It _is_ available in smaller vials.”

At 15:26:38, he checks out. With a pouch in hand and his beat monitor on the other, Luhan steps out of the mini-mart feeling quite unsure. He is a Worker, and Workers are not supposed to earn enough beats for the things available in Opulence. He isn’t very poor, yes, but his family doesn’t afford these seasonings at all.

“Well, they did sell it in smaller vials, so I guess, it is okay,” he tries to assure himself. It doesn’t really work, because here he is, sitting in the middle of Opulence, the center of everything in The Fortress, staring at a pouch of vials.

“What’s done is done,” he sighs and tucks the pouch in his pocket. He turns to the alley right beside the mini-mart where he bumps into a boy his age—or younger.

“I’m sorry,” Luhan bows apologetically, picking up the food the other dropped when they bumped into each other.

“It’s nothing. Thanks,” the boy replies, dusting off his pants. Luhan bends down to pick a dog tag up—he finds the name Jongin engraved on it. He offers it to the other with a small smile.

Luhan doesn’t notice that Jongin perks up with interest at this.

“I’m Luhan,” he tells Jongin, a finger pointing at his own dog tag.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jongin.”

“Hi.”

Jongin notices Luhan’s tiny smile again and his curiosity perks up even more. He beams at Luhan (who takes a step back) before he walks away.

Luhan watches the boy he just met get lost in the shadows of the alley before walking his way home.

Luhan keeps the vials he’s just bought under his pillow. He attempts to sleep but it eludes him. He has tossed and turned for hours when he decides to stop trying. He pulls the seasoning from under his pillow, and he examines them in his hands.

“Fleeting happiness,” he reads the first label. He opens it a little to sniff a bit—it smells like chocolate and mint; he feels his head clouding up and his lips lifting at the corners. He feels light and floaty—it feels really, really nice. It reminds him of warm showers and soft beds and he sighs.

“I like this.”

Luhan puts the vial down on his side while he focuses on the other. _Bleeding love_. His eyebrows furrow because he doesn’t remember getting this one. _Must have taken the wrong bottle_ , he figures. He gets up to head back to the store—he needs to trade this for the proper one.

It will be a waste of beats if he doesn’t, after all.

On the way back to Opulence, he spares a glance at his time block. It is 9:57:32: the whole day has passed and he hasn’t slept a wink. He has pampered himself in the shower though—he has spent almost an hour in the warmth of the water (until his mother knocked and forced him out of the shower).

It is a boring life, everything is infinitely looped—it doesn’t matter whether the sun is up or not. Everything he does remains the same. It’s not a happy life, but what else can he do?

He doesn’t want to end up like the Unspeakables—people who doesn’t reciprocate well with the wonder drug. He tells his mind to shut up when it whispers _you are one too, and you know it_. He has to admit however, that he’s been wondering how it is to live like an Unspeakable (even for a day).

As he approaches the mini-mart, he catches sight of movement in the alley beside it. Luhan feels the need to stop his curiosity (he has yet to overcome this feeling; he isn’t supposed to feel this, but he does), but he ends up staring into the darkness of the alley where he finds his new acquaintance, Jongin, moving in a sequence of graceful, calculated steps.

Luhan is awed.

He finds himself dazed; in fact, he is too dazed that he forgets he has a vial in his hand—a fragile vial that falls to the ground and shatters into many pieces, content spilling and splattering in many ways.

The breaking of the bottle grabs Jongin’s attention and he finds Luhan hovering near the spilled liquid until he’s heaving and sighing—later, he finds tears running down the boy’s face.

He walks to the pained boy and Jongin sees the label: _bleeding love_.

“Luhan,” he says softly, his voice so tender Luhan feels as if Jongin is caressing his insides with it. “It’s not real, it’s not real.”

Jongin wipes Luhan’s tears and cradles the boy—if he guessed right, Luhan’s never even been _in love_ , so the feeling of brokenness is definitely a difficult but incomprehensible feeling. He continues to whisper _it’s not real_ to Luhan’s ears until he calms down.

When he realizes Luhan isn’t going to calm down anytime soon, he picks himself up, dragging Luhan with him in the process. He walks deeper into the alley and Luhan follows, confused. Jongin begins dancing and when he sees Luhan watching him like a kid (tears and pain forgotten), a thought comes to mind.

“Why don’t you come here and let me teach you?”

Luhan ignores the beeping of his time block as he absorbs the moves Jongin teaches him.

He feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest; _something_ is surging in his veins and he wants to know what it is. He is sweaty all over and he has definitely not felt anything like this, ever. Jongin offers him a face towel which he uses to dry himself.

He sits on a corner, the towel draped on his shoulder, as he watches Jongin continue with the ‘routine’—a word Jongin has used to describe the series of ‘steps’ they have been doing—and he wonders how the boy can continue doing it all day.

“What’s it called again?” Luhan asks, as Jongin jumps in the air and lands gracefully, his body flowing through the rest of the _routine_ (Luhan figures he likes the word).

“Dance,” the other immediately responds, never losing a step in the process. Luhan tries the word again and again; he mutters it repeatedly, like a mantra—Jongin just has to stop to observe him.

“You’re interesting,” he states as he sits beside Luhan. “You’re the first person to learn so quickly.”

“Why’d you stop?” Luhan questions in response—and Jongin laughs even more.

“You’re really something,” he says before he gets up and dances once more.

Luhan watches at Jongin again—he observes silently as Jongin’s face scrunches up in a step and growls in another. It goes without saying that dancing is _illegal_ and he berates himself—he really shouldn’t; not if he wants to avoid the syringe at all costs.

But the way Jongin’s eyes light up is hypnotizing, he reasons with himself.

He stares at the other’s eyes as he dances and Luhan thinks it’s the most beautiful pair he has ever seen.

Four hours before his day off ends, Luhan decides he needs to go home and rest. The shattered vial is forgotten; Jongin wonders if he should remind the other, but he doesn’t.

Luhan promises him that he’ll come and visit again soon and he gets a bright smile in response.

He thinks Jongin is inexplicably beautiful and really interesting and he schedules a visit the next day, cutting down the things he wants to do to make space for the dancer.

That night, Luhan dreams for the first time.

_Life at work has never been this boring,_ Luhan says to himself as he injects chemicals into tubes once again. He has never asked what the chemicals were—he is starting to get curious, but curious isn’t exactly in the spectrum of emotions he should be feeling.

So he bites the question back.

When his curiosity gets the best of him, he does his best to put his poker face on, takes the time block and walks towards the stern lady with pretty #24 lips for permission to go out.

He receives it easily—it takes everything in him to keep himself in check, to keep himself from running towards Opulence—towards Jongin.

When he gets to Jongin, he finds the boy dancing yet again, murmuring words under his breath in an interesting way. He tries to copy how Jongin does it and he finds himself bubbling inside, all of his curiosity abandoned as he makes sounds he has never made before.

Jongin notices him at some point—and he sits beside Luhan, smiling very brightly when he realizes Luhan is singing what he has been dancing to.

“It’s called Time Control,” Jongin tells Luhan as the other clambers for the words. “You’ve got the tune down pat. You’re really interesting.”

“Tune?” Luhan asks, realizing there isn’t really much they teach you in The Facility.

Jongin looks confused for a moment, and then his mouth pops into an ‘oh’.

“Right. I forgot. They don’t teach you songs anymore, do they?”

“Songs,” the other repeats as he finds himself getting even more lost as the conversation progresses.

“This,” Jongin takes out a battered box out of his and places it on Luhan’s hand, “is a cassette tape player.” He proceeds to click a button or two, not before placing two buds into Luhan’s ears. The act sends weird sensations down Luhan’s spine and he shivers.

“Ah, somebody is ticklish,” Jongin murmurs after chuckling. Luhan finds Jongin laughing beautiful. He feels an urge to make Jongin laugh some more—maybe he should, he thinks.

Someday. 

“That,” Jongin says as sounds fill his ear, “is music. You’re listening to a song right now. It’s called Time Control. That’s what we—I was dancing to. Try finding the beat.”

At first, Luhan is confused—a beat? You can buy things with music?—but when he watches the way Jongin tapped his fingers, he recognizes what Jongin has been referring to. He listens carefully and notices the dropping of something heavy—it has consistency and he finds that the steps Jongin has been teaching him match perfectly.

“A while ago, you were singing,” Jongin presses a button and the music stops. Luhan focuses his attention to Jongin, and he realizes he really, really, _really_ likes how Jongin’s eyes light up.

“What are you feeling right now?” Luhan cuts Jongin’s sentence off with his question and the other is caught off guard.

“I, uh,” Jongin tilts his head unconsciously, rummaging through his mind for the proper word, “excited?”

“Your eyes light up when you’re excited,” Luhan says, smiling at Jongin—a habit he’s picked up from the other after spending a few hours together. “It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Jongin leans back and laughs. Luhan thinks this suits Jongin too.

“So going back,” Luhan says after apologizing for cutting Jongin off, “the easily recognizable pattern is the tune?”

“Not exactly,” Jongin explains, eyebrows furrowing as he searches for the best way to explain. “Beats are easily recognizable too.”

Jongin sings a bit, his voice mostly raw and husky, to show Luhan what the tune is—it summarizes the song, Jongin tells him, hands waving in the air as he tries to draw up images for Luhan to understand something so abstract.

Luhan doesn’t really hear much of Time Control’s tune—actually, no, he doesn’t hear anything at all (he doesn’t even watch Jongin’s hands as they futilely attempt to draw everything Jongin says). All he hears is how Jongin parades how he feels like he doesn’t care about _getting caught_ at all. Luhan wonders how Jongin is able to pull different things out of his carefully monitored mind—it hasn’t even been a whole day of hanging out with Jongin and here he is, learning about things they have never been taught in The Facility, feeling things—feeling alive even—and, reflecting on all the _possibilities_.

He thinks of all the things he has learned and he wonders where the first sixteen years of his life has gone; Jongin’s life is interesting and _different_ , it’s everything he has never experienced—and everything he _wants_ to experience.

For the first time in his life, he wants to stop living in fear of The Government.

Luhan isn’t sure he knows how to.

He gets back to his workplace with five seconds to spare. The stern lady who never seems to need rest makes a note of Luhan’s dishevelled appearance: sweat running down his neck and face flushed to the tips of his ears. He doesn’t notice at all.

Luhan sits down on his spot, stomach growling because he has _forgotten_ that he needed to eat, sleep and _bathe_ after dance sessions with Jongin. He tugs at his sweaty overalls, counting how many times he’s been almost late to work (he counts three)—he remembers what Jongin calls _adrenaline rush_. He remembers how they ran around The Fortress, choosing only the darker paths so they won’t be seen.

Running, after all, is a display of _panic_ (a word he has learnt from Jongin—he has learnt many things from him).

He is swivelling his chair to get to the tubes when he makes yet another mental note to ask Jongin what these chemicals are exactly. He lets his mind wander as he passes time by.

It has been four days since he first met Jongin and his life has been through a lot of really drastic changes. He has violated more rules the past days compared to the rest of his life and never has his fear gotten hold of him—even once. Maybe, it is because Jongin was there with him, teaching him how to do things.

He doesn’t know anything about Jongin, but he feels like he could just blindly trust him and nothing will ever go wrong. Jongin is introducing him to a life he never thought existed; Luhan _knows_ he is an Unspeakable, and this is supposed to be wrong but Luhan is really just so curious—and if there is anything that could best describe Luhan, it’d be just that: _curious_.

The past days has really been exciting; Luhan hopes his eyes light up like Jongin’s—he hopes he looks just as beautiful to Jongin as Jongin is to him.

“If only you were here,” Luhan whispers to himself, sending a wistful smile to his dead sister. “You’d probably enjoy singing too.”

Giving in to his spur of the moment urges, like spending more time with Jongin, leaves Luhan feeling heavy and tired. He hasn’t been eating properly nor has he been sleeping properly. He does take a bath because Jongin seems to smell perpetually good, despite dancing all day—but that’s all he ever does at home.

Jongin watches Luhan worriedly when the latter’s movements seem to lag behind. He sits Luhan down and gets the boy something to eat. Jongin lifts his hand to trace the bags under Luhan’s eyes—it’s noticeably getting bigger day after day. He partly blames himself for this; he is, after all, ignoring the fact that the boy needs to sleep and eat—he isn’t an Unspeakable who has more than a lot of free time.

Jongin leaves Luhan to go get something else for him to eat but when he returns, Luhan is curled up like a cat, head on Jongin’s shirt, sleeping so peacefully. He gently takes his shirt from underneath Luhan and lays the latter’s head on his lap, a finger tracing the gentle slopes of the slumbering boy’s face.

When the Luhan’s time block beeps thirty minutes till break time is over, Jongin shakes the boy awake. He obviously needs more sleep so Jongin pats around the half-asleep boy’s pockets, searching for Luhan’s beat monitor. When he finds it, he swipes it against his monitor, giving the boy more than enough time to buy a few more hours of sleep.

He then swipes Luhan’s beat monitor under the time block, smiling contentedly when the flashing red numbers read ‘12:29:35’. He prompts Luhan for his address and somehow manages to draw an address out of the jumble of warbled sleepy words and slurred slips of tongue.

He lays Luhan on the bed and leaves immediately after.

“Oh, shit.”

Luhan falls out of bed, body prodded into action by panic as he races around the house. His thoughts are on overdrive— _wait, what am I doing at home—I was in the alley with Jongin—was he caught? Oh shit, I’m late, where is my time block_.

His jaw almost falls to the ground when he finds his time block on his bedside table, blaring numbers reading ’04:20:39’.

“Why do I have more time?”

He checks his beat monitor—he finds that his beats haven’t been touched.

A name flashes in his mind and he makes a note to thank him properly later as he exits his bedroom. On the dining table, Luhan finds a piece of paper with an unfamiliar penmanship.

_Eat some more. I got you more of the food you ate this afternoon. Take better care of yourself._

Luhan smiles at the gesture; it makes him feel small flickers of warmth running through his veins—settling in the deepest corners of his heart and his stomach.

His eyes fall on an empty vial on the kitchen sink.

“Luhan. Worker, Class B.”

Single-lidded eyes stare coldly at the photo on his desk before they shift towards the files neatly fastened to a transparent folder. He barely changes the expression on his face when he takes a gun from his side drawer, points it at the man across him and shoots.

“Take the vermin out before his blood stains my carpet.”

The men standing rigidly behind him immediately jerks into action. In five minutes, the body has been _properly disposed_ into the furnace three floor below his office.

“You are all dismissed. Close the door.”

He rests his elbows on his desk, hands clasped. He eyes the shadows that danced in time with the flicker of fire burning in his fireplace. His office is dark and cold, and he likes it this way. It helps in making decisions, he tells himself.

 _I can think properly like this,_ he says under his breath.

“Class B.”

He untangles his fingers and reaches for his intercom.

“Zhang Yixing, come into my office.”

The Workers don’t normally care about dates—they just know that there are twenty four hours in a day, seven days a week, four weeks in a month and twelve months in a year—they don’t really care about specifics, but Luhan is an exception. 

Luhan has never known what a calendar is until his sister showed him one. She has been playing along the boundaries of The Fortress once again—she loved exploring the outside world too much because she finds a lot of things she never sees around The Fortress. That says a lot because as a trained caretaker, she has _seen_ a lot of things.

“Apparently, months have names,” she tells him when she gets home. “Look at what I found.”

She has pulled out an incredibly battered roll of paper; the ends are soft and torn and Luhan cannot help but be scared of touching it—he feels like the slightest touch can tear it apart. His twin sister doesn’t hear any of his protests and thrusts it to him.

“It’s a calendar,” she says as she unrolls it. “I’m not sure what day it is today, though.”

Luhan raises his hand to mess with his sister’s hair because he knows she expects it. He unconsciously smiles to himself when she flashes him her rows of teeth. 

(In retrospect, he should have stared more, should have looked more, should have memorized fully—it was, after all, the last time he gets to see this and now, he always breaks a little more inside whenever he cannot remember it perfectly.)

What happens next, however, is ingrained in his memory, no matter how he tries to forget.

Years later, he still remembers it very, very well.

It seemed like a regular day at work, but a man clad in a dark suit called for him. 

“The purged has been caught prowling on forbidden grounds. As per protocol, she’s been issued a warning shot as a call for surrender. Warning was ignored, so the fatal shot was fired; the purged is dead due to disobedience. The Fortress does not need disobedient citizens. Please keep this death a reminder. _Do not disobey._ ”

That same calendar she brought home that day is sitting tattered in his hands and he stares at it tiredly. _Today, she has been dead for seven years_ , he says to himself.

“I told you,” Luhan says, louder than he intended—though it doesn’t really matter, since he is all alone in the apartment right now. “I told you to stop sneaking out. Look at what they did to you.”

He brashly buries the calendar deep in his closet and plasters a smile on his face before he heads out—hopefully, Jongin will be able to raise his spirits.

And this, Jongin does.

Jongin is dancing when Luhan gets to Opulence. The familiar flicks of his wrists and thrusts of his hips help calm Luhan down. The memory of his anger and frustration slowly trickle away and in its place, waves of excitement and adrenalin tumble in.

Luhan later joins Jongin—their breaths in sync, their movement captivating each other’s eyes. _It is beautiful to be part of this,_ Luhan thinks as he snaps his arms to the left, limbs moving in tune with Jongin’s.

The routine ends and Jongin offers Luhan packed food.

“I figured you’d be here instead of eating properly,” he says, grinning so widely that Luhan cannot resist smiling back at him.

Jongin distracts Luhan (who cannot contain his excitement for the next off day) for the rest of his break with talks of colors—of reds and blues; pinks and browns—and Luhan feels like nothing will ever be the same.

He does not notice the weight settling in his stomach—a foreboding of what was to come.

It has been a week since Luhan visited Jongin and he’s a giddy kid as he hopes that The Governor decides to give the day off. He takes three calming breaths before looking at his time block. _Is it today, is it today,_ he chants in his mind, feet curling in his shoes to stop himself from bouncing up and down on his chair.

The angry blare of the display almost sends Luhan to the door— _almost_ because he feels a pair of eyes on him. For the first time in quite a while, he feels the trickling of ice cold water down his spine and he involuntarily shivers.

The stern lady is watching his _every_ move.

Luhan grasps at his calm as outwardly, he picks up his time block nonchalantly. He walks out carefully, making sure to maintain his poker face. He feels her eyes trained on him and he fights back the urge to gulp.

When he thinks he is far enough to sprint, he does.

The only thought in his head is _Jongin, we need to talk_.

Jongin toys with the vial on his hand, deliberating if he really wants to push through with the plan. He has never liked all these forged emotions— _it’s nothing like the real thing,_ Jongin mutters.

He tucks the vial into his pocket and hits ‘play’ on his cassette tape player.

There is no better way to clear his head than to dance to a new song.

He feels the beat in the soles of his feet—they crawl up his calves, thighs, back and neck until they’re flowing all over his body. This is what he likes best in dancing.

You just lose yourself.

Luhan gasps for air as he pushes himself harder—a little more, he tells himself. A little more and you’ll know. His fingers feel cold inside; it’s as if his blood turned into ice, his limbs slowly freezing underneath him and his desire to see Jongin burns brighter.

“She knows. They know.”

Opulence shines brilliantly in his eyes—how long has it been? A month? Luhan wants to doubt his count, but he has his vial receipt in the pocket of his overalls.

A month ago, he would have chosen skipping a meal over passing through Opulence. Yet, here he is now, running in the shadows to get there as soon as he can.

“Jongin,” he mutters in his breath to motivate himself, “please be safe.”

When he finds Jongin dancing happily in the alley, Luhan feels like the heavy weight on his shoulders has finally been taken away—there is a rush of delight and he feels like his body is reenergized every passing second that Jongin remains in his sight.

He finds himself running to the boy, feet filled with adrenalin, just like how they are when he’s almost late for work (and he’s still wants more time with Jongin).

A soft ‘oompf’ gets out of the dancer’s lips when Luhan slings an arm on his shoulders.

“What’s up?”

The relief on Luhan’s face flushes out with his blood.

“I—they know, Jongin.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m under surveillance.”

Luhan’s legs finally fail him; he collapses to the ground, panting. One hand tightens on his knee, the other cards through his hair as he tries to calm himself down.

“I—the lady has been taking notes. They must have caught on—I don’t want the syringe anymore. I—I wanted to experience your life but no, I—it—I _can’t_ , Jongin.”

“Luhan, calm down,” Jongin murmurs into Luhan’s ear as he holds the other. “I’m here.”

“No, you don’t understand, Jongin.”

“What don’t I understand?”

“I’ve been given the wonder drug ten times. I _don’t_ want another round, please understand.”

“But you want to experience how I live?”

“I wanted to. I _can’t_.”

“Of course, you can. I want to show you the world they are keeping you from—you have so much potential. How about you just lessen your visits—go back to your old routine, but come visit me some time, yeah?”

“Sure, but—”

“No buts, Luhan. You don’t want the syringe, right?

It will be safer like that. Try spending less time here in Opulence, too. You don’t really go here, do you? I’ve never seen you much around here before.”

“Okay.”

Luhan spends the rest of the day memorizing Jongin’s every movement, every word. He makes the rest of the day about Jongin—how his bones hold his firm muscles, how every line bend gracefully to form the Jongin he knows.

Everything is about Jongin until he is sent home, with a promise of _I’ll see you soon_.

By the time the second week of avoiding Jongin comes along, Luhan supposes he could go visit the boy. He has been faithful with his promise to the other—he didn’t set foot on Opulence at all. He misses the music, the dance—he misses Jongin’s laughter and his voice. He misses a lot and he knows he doesn’t want to lose these, so he has been waiting for the right time to visit.

Despite the fact that he hasn’t seen the boy, Luhan’s pretty sure Jongin’s all he has ever thought of the past days.

He almost pricks himself when his body remembers a particular moment and he almost makes a mistake. At this point, his time block beeps and he suppresses a smile. He finishes the last set and gets up.

“It’s been a while,” he tells himself as he walks to the lady in fuchsia lips. He watches as she checks the flashing red on his time block—glaring at him afterwards, as if willing him to behave.

Luhan bites back the smile on his face because he cannot risk Jongin. His face falls, however, when he hears a word from the lady’s lips.

“Scorpius.”

The word jogs something in his distant memories, but Luhan pretends he doesn’t hear and does his best not to look back.

When he gets to Opulence, he finds Jongin sitting at the darkest corner. He is holding a vial on each of his hands, and Luhan recognizes one of them—it is like what he broke during the day he first saw Jongin dance. The young dancer doesn’t look up at him despite the echoing of his footsteps, so Luhan calls out to him gently.

“Jongin,” he speaks softly, “are you alright?”

It takes three times before Jongin looks up at him, confusion evident on his sharp eyes. It takes a minute before Jongin blinks repeatedly, realization dawning on his sculpted face. It takes another minute before Jongin smiles, the familiar warmth spreading on his tanned features.

“Are you alright?” Luhan inquires once again because the boy seemed to be in deep thought when he arrived. He looks at the vials in Jongin’s hands curiously, watching as the boy plays with them before explaining.

“Remember this?”

Jongin raises a hand and on it sits a vial of bleeding love. Luhan vaguely recalls the first time he sees Jongin dancing—the same day he broke the vial. Remembering all these, Luhan eagerly sits beside Jongin, all his mental notes (the ones he has always forgotten) ready for firing.

The other boy seems to have noticed his enthusiasm—he only shakes his head and says one word.

“Shoot.”

“What are these?”

Luhan raises a finger to point at the vials which Jongin carefully places in his hands. The vial of bleeding love is familiar to his hands; the other one, _sweetened calm_ , feels so foreign. The vial’s shape is unusual—it is almost circular at the bottom but almost too tapered at the top. Luhan is pretty sure he’s never seen this in the shop before.

“What do you think?” Jongin’s voice called him out of his daze.

“They make food taste really good.”

“No, they don’t,” Jongin begins, taking one of the vials from Luhan. He opens bleeding love and he frowns—Luhan feels like his chest is going to burst. He remembers his sister and the feeling that he is never going to see her ever again, the feeling that he was not there to help her, to hold her before her last breath—and he cries.

Luhan cries silently; he doesn’t sob or scream. This time, he just lets tears fall. He clutches his chest—all he knows is something is happening and _it hurts so fucking bad_ and he just wants it to stop.

Jongin replaces the cork on and Luhan finds himself breathing easier—not easily, just a little easier.

“Still think they only make food taste good?”

Jongin pops the other vial open and pours a little of its blue liquid on his palm. Luhan stares at it closer, breathing getting so much easier the more he gets nearer _sweetened calm_. He feels like smiling, so he does—his curious eyes moving up to meet Jongin’s. Luhan’s curiosity perks up even more because Jongin’s eyes look so _unusual_.

Luhan raises a hand to take the vial away from Jongin. The vial is placed somewhere on the ground to be left forgotten, because now Luhan is moving closer to the other boy. His curiosity and interest is doubled because of the way Jongin looks at him. He curls his hands on either side of Jongin’s face, revelling at the pronounced jawline of the other.

Luhan takes his time just to memorize the smaller lines he has never really seen so close. His palms get sweaty and his heart is beating so fast in his chest—his mind is telling him to stop, but Jongin doesn’t seem to mind.

Jongin raises his forehead to meet Luhan’s and this calms Luhan’s heart a little. It doesn’t do much, however, when Jongin whispers something to him and all Luhan sees is Jongin’s lips and feels is Jongin’s breath—every nerve goes on overdrive and the sensation makes Luhan curious.

So, curiously, Luhan places his lips on Jongin’s because he wonders how it feels.

It feels so _good_ that Luhan realizes he lacks the vocabulary to give the feeling a semblance of justice.

But Luhan scrambles away, getting up before running down the path home with a finger on his lips, trying to remind him of how utterly wonderful it felt.

He only remembers what Jongin whispered to him when he lies on his bed.

“You’re beautiful.”

Luhan tosses and turns on his bed, fingers playing with the plumpness of his lips. He glances at his time block, red numbers screaming at him to get some sleep, but he merely throws it across the room. His heart is still beating really fast; face still warm and hands still cold.

He presses a fist on his chest as an attempt, albeit futile, to calm his heart. His white overalls are probably a mess now, his blonde hair all messy and windblown—but his dishevelled appearance is nothing compared to the jumbled thoughts swirling inside him.

What is this he’s feeling? He is excited, nervous, scared and happy all at the same. There is also another feeling he can’t quite identify—all he knows is he wants _more_.

He shifts yet again; he settles into an uncomfortable position for the sake of settling down. He needs to sleep, but it evades him. All he can think about is how rough Jongin’s lips are, but it doesn’t really matter much, because he just wants to do it all over again.

 _Why’d I run away then_ , Luhan asks himself.

The bubbling numbness of _what have I done_ and _I might have ruined everything_ overrides everything else he has been feeling a few moments before. There is a sinking feeling in the depths of his stomach and he feels like he is getting sucked into a bottomless hole.

“I shouldn’t have run away,” he says, getting out of bed and bending to pick his time block up. “I should go back there and have him explain.”

He showers and changes into a new set of overalls. 

He rushes to Opulence, only to find the alley empty.

For the rest of the week, Luhan visits Opulence religiously, but the result remains the same.

_Jongin is never there._

By the middle of the second week after Jongin disappeared from his life, Luhan finds a vial of bottled emotions on his doorstep. He moves to pick it up (and read the label) but stops midway when he notices a small note.

He reaches for it instead and finds Jongin’s handwriting. Luhan feels his stomach flip— _it’s been so long, Jongin, I want to see you_ , he thinks.

“I never got to give it to you. Don’t look for me anymore. Stop going to the alley for now.”

The note breaks his heart a little, but more than anything, it makes him fear for Jongin’s life. His heart drops to his flipping stomach, and he feels so restless.

Luhan drops the note and runs to Opulence like his life depends on it.

No amount of _sweetened calm_ could have prepared Luhan for what he sees in the alley. Jongin is manhandled by six sentinels; their leader has seen him and is about to approach him when Jongin screams,

“Run! Don’t look—”

Luhan does run.

He runs towards the sentinel who dared punch Jongin in the gut. He aims a punch at the sentinel’s gut, only to feel a syringe on his arm.

He falls on the ground, unconscious.

When Luhan comes to, he finds himself in a dark room, wrists and ankles raw with the rope tightly wound around them. He’s tied to a chair, and across him sits Jongin. Between them hangs a flickering lamp. It shines mostly on Jongin and Luhan notices a huge bruise on his cheek (and a few more on his other cheek) and dried blood at the corner of his mouth. The dancer’s shoulders are slumped; he looks unconscious. His hair is messy and he looks really, really peaceful which Luhan finds ironic, for his face had violent bruises and wounds.

Luhan perks up when he hears faint echoes of footsteps. He deliberates whether to stay up or pretend to be asleep, and decides to do the latter—to know what’s going on.

When the room’s door opens, he slumps and pretends to be unconscious. Luhan opens his eyes a little and sees the sentinel he attempted to punch earlier walking around Jongin. When the sentinel looks at him, he closes his eyes.

They open almost immediately when the sentinel pulls on his hair hard.

“Nice try, vermin.”

Luhan winces at the tugging while the sentinel uses the tip of his gun to wake Jongin up.

“Your friend is awake. We can begin.”

The sentinel laughs and Luhan thinks it’s the scariest thing he has ever heard. His blood runs cold inside him and he gets a feeling that somebody will die tonight.

He feels very scared for Jongin’s life. 

“Kim Jongin. Unspeakable. You are charged with trespassing, illegal possession of beats and corruption of the innocent.”

At the mention of ‘innocent’, Jongin looks at Luhan and offers him a weak smile. 

“Guilty as charged,” Jongin answers confidently.

The sentinel faces Luhan to read the list of his charges. Luhan watches the sentinel as he walks around him, stopping only when he is on Luhan’s right side.

“Lu Han. Class B Worker. You are charged with—”

“What? Wait, what did I do? I didn’t do anything!”

"Prove it."

"What do you mean?"

"Shoot him, or we will have you undergo Scorpius."

"I will not shoot Jongin."

"Shoot him or," the man grabs a gun and points at the curtains drawn. "I'll shoot them."

Luhan twists his head and behind a soundproof glass, he sees his parents, working hard, as if today was just another day. He doesn’t want to kill them, so, he looks at Jongin who was watching him resignedly.

Jongin nods his head to tell him _it's okay_.

"I am honored to have offered my life to something worth fighting for."

Luhan looks at him apologetically, takes a breath and shoots Jongin on the head.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh-huh. Yup, it ends there. If there are enough people curious, I can maybe post a summary of the rest of the story. Just let me know in the comments~


End file.
